


The Killing Moon

by MoralitySucks



Category: Roswell (TV 1999), Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoralitySucks/pseuds/MoralitySucks
Summary: Michael, Max, and Isobel are concerned about the appearance of two FBI agents while Dean and Sam Winchester are on the trail of a chupacabra with no knowledge of the aliens.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	The Killing Moon

The sun wasn’t even halfway up the cloudless blue sky and already everything was hot and parched; early morning dew now turned to a crust under the blazing star. A Sheriff’s deputy car was parked askance on the flat farmland that ringed the Helquist ranch.

Max Evans stood, hands on his gun belt and grimace turned to high, next to the gruesome scene. No less than five cows, deflated like balloons with no signs of traumatic bleeding lay pathetically on the field around him in a semi circle, all equally spaced from each other. 

"Maybe coyotes?" Offered the ranch owner, the one that had called the non emergency number earlier in the morning.

Max shrugged amicably "Maybe..."

"Been a rash of cayote attacks, 'least that's what old man Simmons told me happened to his sheep last week. He said it must've been cayotes on account of hearin' howls the night of. The poor things were barely half a year old, cryin’ shame and loss of would-be good mutton if you ask me."

"Crying shame." Max repeated, pacing around the gory scene with an intense frown. He was getting more concerned with every step and when he finally stopped next to the biggest of the cows his forehead was lined with furrows of worry. Hiking his pants up, he squatted down to examine it closer. 

The animal looked like it had been vacuum sealed to death; the skin was practically unmarred but the bones were straining against it, giving the impression of a skeleton wrapped in borrowed flesh. Its large teeth were exposed in a gruesome jack o lantern grin and its eyes bulged obscenely, already dried out by the sun and being gloated over by several fat horse flies. 

He frowned even deeper when he noticed marks on the cow's chest right below the jutting sternum. Three round wounds perfectly equidistant from each other, no bigger around than a pencil. The lack of blood made them easy to miss, but the rest of the body was in the pristine shape of a prized dairy cow (minus the innards) which meant the surgically neat incisions stood out. His mind was racing, he was barely listening to the rancher behind him as he got up and moved on to the next corpse.

"Y'all arent gonna send those spooks out for this one like you did to Simmons, are ya? I'm a patriot of course, but I don't like those alphabets poking around in my business, ya understand?"

The second cow had matching wounds, as did the third, fourth, and fifth. "Uh huh." Max said distractedly before the words from the other man sunk in. "Wait, what spooks?"

The rancher took a bit to spit out some of the chew in his mouth before answering. "You know, those FBI guys that came into town yesterday. Real bad bed side manner, nearly gave Mrs. Simmons a case of apoplexy."

"FBI guys?" The rock of unease forming in his stomach was turning into a boulder.

"You mean to say you didn't know nothin' about federal interest in these cases? We assumed Valenti had called them in. Is that not right?" 

Still squatting over the last cow he was examining, Max had to struggle to maintain a neutral face. "That must be it, haven't checked in with the sheriff since yesterday so I guess I missed the news." He put a hand to his hat to keep it secured as he stood up. "Well, I'll notify Animal Control about a possible coyote problem, and sanitation for removal I guess?"

"And tell those agents I ain't got nothin' they're interested in, yeah?"

Max forced a laugh through the tightness of anxiety in his chest. "Don't worry Mr. Helquist, I doubt the government is that keen on your moonshine."

He cracked a grin with too perfect dentures glinting in the sun. "I surely don't know whatever it is you're talkin' about, boy."  
When he made it back into his cruiser, his shoulders sagged and he let out the breath that had been stopping up his worried tone. He opened his phone and texted Isobel.

~~~~

The Wild Pony's parking lot was more crowded than Michael was used to seeing it on a weekday afternoon, including a pristine black and silver muscle car that he couldn't help but walk around for a full examination once he got out of his truck. With a low whistle of appreciation he put his hat on and walked into the bar. The usual sounds of raucous chatter around the billiards tables and bad music coming from the juke box washed over him, as did the warm and welcoming light. 

He started to head for the bar but stopped when he saw Maria was busy with a customer getting his palms read and instead veered off to the far booths. With luck, Alex Manes was sitting by himself reading a book.

"Heyo, what's up?" He said as he slid onto the bench on the opposite side. 

"Oh, hey Guerin. I didn't see you come in."

"Yeah, it's loud and seems busier than usual. What're you doing here so early, anyway?"

Alex closed his book, using a napkin from the holder as a bookmark. "Maria had some computer issues she needed help with, but she's been doing palmistry since I got here."

"Malware from the streaming sites she uses again?" Michael asked, smirking.

"I've installed multiple antivirus programs on that desktop and she still manages to find the most recent nightmare." He said with a laugh before sipping from a half empty mug of black coffee. "What're you up to?"

With a dramatic stretch, Michael put his arms behind his head and extended his legs, cowboy boots brushing against Alex's combat boots. "Max is in some tizzy again, he refused to go into detail so I had to drag my ass over here. I just gave myself a little extra time to get sauced since I was gonna be here anyway."

"Sensible." He was smiling like there was a private joke Michael wasn’t in on but before he could say what was so funny, loud laughter from the bar drew their attention.

Maria was holding the hand of a man in a full suit mid palm reading, leaning back and laughing at some unheard comment. Her loose hair was falling back in waves and her eyes were shut in glee. The stranger was grinning ear to ear, watching her big laugh like a marksman internally celebrating a bullseye. 

"Uh, who the fuck is that?"

It appeared Michael had hit on the joke because Alex smiled at him. "Dunno, but they've been chatting for half an hour. She seems to think he's really funny. Not hard on the eyes, either."

Finally, Michael took the stranger's appearance in. About the same height as him, broad shouldered, wearing an ill fitting three piece suit but even where the suit didn't fit, it still showed off a muscular and tight body. His short brown hair was slicked back, giving him a somewhat cunning appearance.

Michael sat up straight, frowning in their direction. "He looks like a narc." 

"Maybe, but I'm not one to keep my friends from scoring out of town tail." He said with a shrug. "Even the straights have a limited dating pool here." 

He took his hat off, using it to point across the table. "Bet she's playing him for a bigger tip."

"Yeah? Free beer is quite the long con for a bigger tip."

"Wait, he's drinking for free?" 

The smile lines by Alex's eyes were in full force as he nodded, clearly amused watching the territorial gears turn.

Now the hat was on the table but he continued to tap it thoughtfully before rising to his feet in a decisive motion. "Well, let's go meet the fresh meat." And with considerable more swagger than usual, he made his way to the bar.

"Try not to grill him too hard."

~~~

"No, I'm totally serious-" The stranger was saying, a mischievous smile spreading across too-early 5'oclock stubble. "My life line is broken up like that cuz I'm on my third resurrection. It starts fresh every time. Hopin' I got six more in me like a cat." 

Maria was laughing again, now pulling a fresh mug of beer from the tap. "You look more like a wolf than a cat, a silver tongued one at that."

"Wow, we talking about animals over here? Cuz I'm wonderin' what wild pony a guy has to tame to get a drink in here." 

She put the mug down and fixed him with a half smile. "Guerin, you're up early."

"Seems like I'm not the only one lookin' to wet my whistle before happy hour." He responded with a patronizing tip of his hat before sitting down one stool away from the other man. "Who's your new friend?"

The man mimicked the gesture, pretending to hold a hat he wasn't wearing before extending it for a handshake, chuckling lightly at his own joke. "Name's Walsh, nice to meet'ch'ya." And then with a quirked half smile he added, "Pardner."

Michael stared at the proffered hand for a beat, noticing neatly trimmed nails but tell tale spots of stubborn engine grease that looked to be recent. After a tense couple of seconds he accepted the firm shake, feeling almost as many callouses from hard labor as he had on his own. Apparently not the city slicker Michael had assumed he was. "Guerin, to my friends. And 'pardner' to out of towners, apparently."

They released hands and Walsh broke his charming smile with an amused chuckle. "Just tryna fit in with the locals better. Do they always play this honky tonk trash in here?"

Despite himself, Michael laughed. "Pretty much, on weekdays especially. If you're trying to blend in, maybe a different car would be helpful. That beauty stands out like a sore thumb in this town full of decade old jalopies." 

"How'd'ya know it's mine?" 

"You've got engine grease on your hands and I know for a fact no one at this bar works on their own cars."

Walsh fixed him with a frozen half smile, slightly narrowing his eyes. "And how do you know that?"

"Oh, cuz I'm the only mechanic in town awake before noon and sober enough to do it right." He locked eyes with him, lips curled up in a lopsided smirk. "So. She run as smooth as she looks?"

Another few seconds passed before Walsh burst into laughter. "I thought I was doing the detective work! And yeah, she runs like a dream; maybe I'll show you sometime."

"Uh huh. What did you say your business in Roswell was? Guessin' it's not for the local flavor."

Walsh held a finger up as he drained the mug in front of him and wiped the foam from his lip with a napkin. "Didn't say, actually. But the local flavor seems pretty sweet from where I'm sitting, if our bartender here is any indication."

At this, Maria turned from the drink she was mixing to purse her lips in a tight smile. "Don't you try to schmooze me in my own bar."

"Seems like he already has schmoozed you." Michael muttered after the other man excused himself to the restroom.

She scoffed. "Oh, don't be so jealous. He's drinking free today after helping 86 a couple of truckers last night. I've given you free drinks for the same thing."

"I mean. Y'all were carrying on over here like old friends and suits don't seem like your type."

"What do you know about my type, Guerin?"

He shrugged and gestured to himself, causing her to roll her eyes.

"He's not my type, but we were talking about indigenous folk lore, which he is surprisingly well versed in."

"Oh, so Maria DeLuca likes nerds in suits now?"

"Oh, so Michael Guerin feels threatened by fashion choices now?"

They glared at each other for a few seconds before Alex approached and took a stool. "Wow. Weird energy in here. Did I miss the juicy stuff?" He took a swig from the untouched beer in front of Michael.

"Just Guerin being insensitive to strangers."

"So a normal Tuesday?" 

Michael ran a hand through his long curls, groaning. "I see how it is. Everyone is gonna gang up on me. If that's the case, get your own beer." And he shooed Alex away from the mug, waiting until both of them were frowning at him to make a production of throwing the rest of the frothy beer back in one. 

As he drained the mug, Walsh returned from the restroom; suit coat slung over one shoulder and shirt sleeves rolled up past the elbows. "What's everyone looking so pissy for?" He asked, taking a seat and smiling like the question was a joke."

Maria laughed. "Oh, these boys were just curious about your case, Agent Walsh."

Michael choked on some beer going down the wrong way, feigning a cough to disguise it. "Agent? Like... Realtor?"

"I wish, the pay is a lot better," Walsh said after an obviously fake laugh. "No, my partner and our consultant are here on special FBI business. Hard to explain cattle mutilations and other strange incidents have caught the interest of the brass. Have any of you seen weird happenings or high strangeness recently?"

While Michael was still coughing, Alex patted his back and responded cagily. "Have we seen anything weird in a town with an entire economy based on a supposed UFO crash 70 years ago that caters to alien hunting kooks? Hmm, maybe check the UFO emporium across the street; they do showings of alien autopsy on Saturdays."

The man clicked his tongue through a lopsided smile shaking his head. "Nah, I don't think that's the brand of weird we're looking for, but thanks for the tip."

Right then was when the front door opened, Max in jeans and a plain tshirt holding the door open for a worried looking Izzy who wandered in wearing skinny capris with purple cuffs that matched her off the shoulder peasant blouse.

Walsh straightened up. "Oh, wait. Is this more of the local flavor you mentioned?" he said with an eyebrow waggle aimed at Michael, who in turn looked at him with disgust before getting up and heading towards the Evans' without another word.

"Uh," Alex found himself the only one left to deal with the handsome stranger. "This is a small town, you should be careful flirting before knowing who is important to who and who is with who."

Walsh laughed. "And who are you with? Oh, wait. Before you answer I wanted to make a guess about something. Army?"

Defenses failing, Alex found he was smiling behind his drink."Technically no one, and close but no cigar. I'm ex air force."

"Define technically."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Max, we have a huge problem-" Michael began in a hushed tone as soon as he caught up to them.

"Yeah, Michael, I know! That's why I wanted to talk here."

"No, Max, we have a /problem/." He tilted his head towards the bar where Walsh had moved the extra stool closer to Alex and the pair were laughing.

The color drained from Max's face. "Is that-"

"Yup. A federal agent. I dunno if your problem is as urgent, but-"

Max made a poor attempt at casual laughter and smacked Michael on the back as if the funniest joke had just been told when Agent Walsh looked over his shoulder at them. "Same problem, didn't know it'd spread this far though. Let's grab a round and get out of here."

Grumbling under his breath and rolling the shoulder Max had smacked him on, Michael followed while glowering at the bar where the supposed agent had both Alex and Maria enthralled.

~~~~~~~~~

"Max, you became a police officer to get out ahead of these types of things!" Izzy was leaning against Michael's trailer with her arms folded, dim light from the fire pit playing havoc with her shadows. "How did you miss this memo?"  
Gritting his teeth, Max stomped over to the opposite side of the pit. "Well, for one, Sheriff Valenti is out of town on her first vacation week in years-"

"So, you're running the circus?" Michael interjected from where he was stretched out on a camp chair close to the fire. "Get your monkeys working on it, because something stinks about that Agent Walsh."

Izzy was standing next to him, a hand clutched at her chest that unintentionally flexed her upper arm muscles. "This isn't funny, you two. This could be it for us! We have never seen feds here once and now there's two poking around in our space?"

Max winced and scratched his nose in an attempt to hide it. "Well. It's been a hectic day, I don't think either of you know what they are supposedly looking into here."

Scoffing, Michael kicked the seat he was reclined in and moved his hat to cover his face. "Just assumed it was us if I'm being honest." He said, muffled.

"You're not far off. There's been some... bizarre livestock deaths in the last week."

Izzy was standing up straight now, arms folded and eyebrows drawn down tight. "Bizarre /how/, Max?"

He clenched his teeth before answering. "Bizarre like other worldly."

The other two took a bit to let this sink in.

Michael broke the tension. "Are you fucking saying there have been alien cow mutilations recently and you're only telling us about it now?"

He looked down with puppy dog eyes.

Isobel finally spoke up. "Ok, buy our good will and interrogate those agents. It's the least you could do."

"I was able to get rough time estimates of killings by all three ranchers, but it was like pulling teeth. Starting to think suit spooks isn't the best disguise for a small border town." Sam Winchester said with an exhausted sigh, untying immaculate dress shoes and removing them before flopping back onto the twin bed. "No one wants to cooperate with the feds here, not even the nationalists."

Dean had stripped down to his undershirt the second he stepped into the motel room and only now sat in one of the ugly patterned chairs to kick his scuffed shoes off without bothering to untie them. "Well, I think that's a Sam problem, cuz I practically got the red carpet treatment."

"Uh, yeah, you spent the day at a local tavern-"

"I believe the Wild Pony is actually a bar."

"Of course that's going to be more welcomed than a fed knocking on someone's door."

"It's all about charisma, Sammy."

Sam pulled a face. "This from the guy that told a widow two months ago she should be grateful we ganked her zombie husband because at least she has proof of death to collect health insurance."

With a scoff of exasperation, Dean leaned back until the front legs of his chair left the ground. "Yeah, it's called a silver lining."

Sam sighed to match him. "I just feel like you aren't taking this case seriously."

"That's where you're wrong, Sammy." He let the tilted chair slam back down to the floor for emphasis. "I've waited my entire life to hunt a chupacabra and we are gonna get the summabitch." 

~~~~~~~

Early the next morning when Dean first left the motel room, shirt only half buttoned and a jacket that looked considerably more wrinkled than the previous day slung over a shoulder, he was cut off on the way to the Impala by a fully uniformed cop with hands on his belt buckle conspicuously close to his hip holster.

“Oh, howdy officer.”

Max Evans tipped his head congenially but couldn’t get a response out before the supposed FBI agent was talking again.

“Say, is the hat part of the official uniform down here? I’m lookin’ for one myself.”

He frowned, thrown off before getting a single word in. “Uh, yes, it’s because of the sun-”

“That is so fun. You know it’s bland as hell up in DC, they want us all looking like mormon missionaries on the job! Just no appreciation for flair. Are the boots uniform issue too?”

Now Max was posturing even harder, shoulder’s thrown back and chest puffed out. He was positive he was being mocked but not positive how exactly. “No, these are a personal purchase…”

Dean mimicked the pose. “Was there an option for spurs but it was too expensive? Really seems like they need some spurs.”

“I don’t need spurs, we don’t have a mounted unit.”

“Not for lack a you askin’ I bet, eh?” Dean said with a click of his tongue. “Oh! Can you buy cowboy boots with spurs that can pop out like heelys?”

“Heelys?”

“Hey, Cas- business idea. Boots with retractable spurs.”

Another man emerged from the half closed door; this one wearing rumpled slacks and an overcoat much too heavy for the climate. “I don’t know what that means.” He said, fiddling with a loose tie that did not look any better when he was done.

“Guess I’ll have to file the patent myself. If you want something done right, huh?”

Max was reeling now, having taken a few steps back from the pair. “Uh, I’m here on official matters as a sheriff’s deputy.”

“If this is about the red light he, I mean we, ran yesterday, I have been told it was a better option than ‘slamming on the brakes’.” The shorter man, Cas, said with a solemn shake of his head. 

“Um, no, not traffic related.” Max was loosening his tie as he spoke, unbalanced by the unpredictable turn the conversation had taken. “No, see. I’m just confused as to why federal agents are interrogating the good people in my precinct without so much as a howdy do to the local police. Love to see some badge numbers and contact for your superiors, make sure everything is above board.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed theatrically, making a production of wiping tears from his eyes when he was done. “Hear that, Cas? Badge numbers?”

Nodding expressionlessly, Cas said, “Hilarious.”

“I’ll tell you what,” He finally said after more annoying laughter. “I have a badge but no badge number. What I do have is an access code to get a confirmation from my superior.”

“Why all the secrecy?”

Dean shrugged as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “Dangerous line of work. We don’t even have tags on our clothing, for fuck’s sake! Do you want the number or not?”

“Show me badges first.”

“Badges, multiple? We ain’t got badges!” More laughter at his own joke while the other two stood stiffly watching. “I have a badge but he isn’t with the agency.”

“Consulting.” Cas replied after the cop gave him a questioning look. “Agricultural expert.”

“I heard there were two agents?”

“Oh, yeah, my partner is in the shower.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “All three of you sleepin’ in a room with two twin beds?”

“I don’t sleep-” Cas started.

“He doesn’t sleep in this room,” Dean cut in quickly. “He’s got a trailer down at the KOA. Traveling expert, you know?”

“Uh, sure. What’s that confirmation code?” 

Several minutes later, Max had figured out the remote contact site. “You said it’s 69420?”

“That’s right.” Dean answered, texting Bobby to be ready with the bullshit they had concocted before coming into town. “I’m gonna let you deal with that, I gotta work for that per diem you know? Oh, and don’t push your luck too hard with my captain- he’s got a short temper.” Dean had already started walking towards the Impala, spinning the key around on his index finger. “You good, Cas? We got either a soon to be serial killer on our hands or the aliens from ‘47 are back with some serious beef cravings.”

Watching the two get into the Chevy and pull out of the parking lot much faster than necessary, Max once again felt rocks in his stomach and stress sweat forming on his face.


End file.
